


Not Before I Taste You

by amyponders



Series: Hvitserk one-shots [3]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Body Language, College, College AU, Crushes, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Summaries, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Pining, Reader-Insert, Romantic Fluff, Secret Crush, Sensuality, Sexual Tension, Sexy, Teasing, Tone Shift, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unspoken Bond, Vikings, hvitserk is a chubby chaser once again, hvitserk x plus size reader, hvitserk x ps reader, hvitserk x reader - Freeform, hvitserk x you, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29018694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyponders/pseuds/amyponders
Summary: In which you and Hvitserk take a few classes together and quietly crush on each other for months, forming a silent bond that makes you equal parts grateful and nervous.
Relationships: Hvitserk (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s), Hvitserk (Vikings)/Reader, Hvitserk (Vikings)/You
Series: Hvitserk one-shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127210
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Not Before I Taste You

**Author's Note:**

> god this is pure garbage but I was going crazy whipping out stories before college started again and my last brain cell was hellbent on this idea

[Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3qmDsdMsl6FsbwdsFT07Of?si=MeS9vxL8TVm4nmgZjc2VpQ)

Being late for class is something that rarely happens to you. Not least of all because the only thing that feels more embarrassing than the walk between the door and your seat as all heads turn to you is the walk of shame itself. Yet somehow sensing Hvitserk Ragnarsson’s green-eyed stare on you as you cross the classroom and head to your seat on the back of the room next to him is a close second option. And the fact that he looks that damn attractive while doing it doesn’t help calm your nerves either. 

The difference between the occasions when either of you is late is that if it’s him, you’re the first - and only - face he searches for in the crowd when he arrives. You’ve decided to chalk it up to how withdrawn he is. You’ve never seen him talking to anybody in class so you assume that in a way, you are the closest thing to an acquaintance that he has, hence he seeks the familiar in you by pure force of habit. 

The other difference is that Hvitserk doesn’t mind parading around leisurely, he seems confident enough in his good looks - and the unspoken knowledge shared by all the people present that he is undeniably filthy rich - to be indifferent to the attention. He doesn’t seek it but he doesn’t shun it either. 

Yet when you are late, you avoid everyone’s gaze, including his own, wanting no more than to become invisible. It’s amazing how much more aware of your own insecurities you can become under a crowd’s scrutinizing gaze. And still, the way Hvitserk shifts his body in his own seat as you sit reveals that you’re not invisible. He’s aware of your newly arrived presence, grateful for it even. He has his tells. And that’s why on the rare days when he’s absent, you miss him. And you like to think that on the days when you aren’t there, he notices your absence too.

It isn’t like you two know each other exactly. But this makes for your third class together in two semesters and that, in a college as big as yours, is nothing short of a miracle. You two have formed a sort of silent link through body language, sounds, and occasional furtive looks. When the professor whom you both despise says something ridiculous, Hvitserk scoffs under his breath and you tilt your head to the side and chuckle. 

If the professor gives too many assignments, Hvitserk curses under his breath and you shake your head in acknowledgment of your shared frustration. When you drop something accidentally, he bends to retrieve it on a reflex. If you text in class and smile at your screen, he becomes fidgety for some reason. You can even tell when he’s in a bad mood because he enters the classroom at the last minute before it starts, drops his backpack on the ground with a thud and a long sigh follows. 

When he’s tired or down, he drags his feet slower than usual, or he lowers his head in his seat, not caring if the professor sees him napping. After all, what could he do to the Ragnarsson’s golden boy? Certainly not expel him. Not with the amount of money that his father gives away to the college each year, funding this or that grant magnanimously.

When you’re handed your grades, Hvitserk waits for your sigh of relief to know you passed before stealthily placing his exam on the edge of his table seat for you to eye his good score, usually slightly better than yours. It isn’t like you’ve ever asked him to do so. He just does. You can’t say for sure how he knows when you’ve seen it either, but he always knows. 

Perhaps it’s because it’s a very similar routine to when you’re stuck on a quiz and you tap your pencil on the wooden desk and he moves his sheet of paper within your sight to help you out. The first time it happened, you’d been merely shaking your pencil in anxiety and he quietly came to your rescue. And since then, it has become sort of your thing. 

Then there was the time when the professor - sensing how unprepared you were that day - kept calling your last name time and time again for you to answer his questions with the clear intention of shaming you, until Hvitserk replied - something he never did - before you ever could, giving him such a great answer that the professor left you in peace for the rest of the lesson. 

No matter the problem, Hvitserk always has your back and you reciprocate whenever you can. One of those small gestures is you bringing him a foamy coffee every once in a while and placing it on his desk wordlessly. He quits slumping and sits up straight - a rare occasion in itself - then he nods at you and starts sipping it. You quickly learned that he loves his coffee extra sweet when you saw him pour all four sugar packages and groan contentedly the first time, so you always bring him plenty.

Encountering him in the hallways, however, is a very different story. You never say hi, merely passing each other indifferently, you so more than him. Usually, the minute you sense his presence around or even worse yet, make eye contact, you avert your eyes and pretend he isn’t there, even when he literally brushes past you. 

At the cafeteria, he’s been behind you in line more times than you can count, and you always silently pray that your hands don’t betray you as you grab your lunch with him on your trail. It makes you curious to wonder if at some point you might actually cross the invisible divide that separates you and talk to one another. In your head, you do sometimes, indulging your imagination and fancying your weird connection to be something more than what it is, but you also like to think that perhaps it’s better this way. 

If you became friends, you’d have to deal with Hvitserk in a more intimate way and you are not sure you’d be able to handle that. Crushing on him from a distance seems a far safer option than crushing on an actual friend because there’s no way in hell he’d ever want to be with a bigger girl like you, right? It isn’t exactly impossible to find men to fool around with. You’ve had two or three amazing fuckbuddies in the last year. But there are some guys, especially trust-fund-country-club-bred kids, who only like to date hollow-cheeked supermodels  — and he looks like one of them.

Curiously enough, you’ve caught Hvitserk on more than one occasion staring at your thick thighs when you wear short skirts or dresses, and at your chest whenever you wear lacy bralettes with translucent shirts or just any top with a low cut. Yet you still refuse to believe he’s attracted to you. Men would look at a pair of tits if they were attached to an old broomstick, you told yourself.

In any case, the closest you’ve ever been to speaking to Hvitserk was that time your pet died and you spent the entire class sniffling, unable to help yourself. He didn’t know what was wrong but he sensed something was up the minute he looked at your disheveled hair and bare face. You never went to class without makeup, cute clothes, and a nice hairdo. 

That day Hvitserk stayed in his seat long after everyone had gone until you calmed down, you two the only people in the empty amphitheater for endless minutes. You kept thinking he was going to ask you what was wrong, but he never did, perhaps assuming that you simply wanted some silent company. When you stood up to gather your things and leave, you smiled warmly in gratitude and he smiled back with a look of relief in his eyes. Yet not a word was uttered.

“You know it’s been almost a year and I still don’t know your name?”

You look up from your huge textbook a bit startled to find him grabbing the chair opposite you abruptly. You blink a couple of times before deciding you aren’t imagining things.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N, can we please get out of here?”

“I don’t understand. Where do you wanna go?”

The library assistant chooses precisely now to shush you both so he leans forward in the table and lowers his voice. 

“To my car for starters. Then I don’t know. Wherever you wanna go. All I know is that if this night doesn’t end with you on my bed screaming my name, I’m dropping this fucking class tomorrow. I can’t stand another damn biology lesson. I hate science.”

“How come you’re so good at it?” You stall, still trying to process the full meaning of his words but your brain seems to be malfunctioning, unlike your heart that’s racing three times as fast.

Hvitserk shrugs. “I’m good at a lot of things I don’t like. But I’m better at the ones I do.” His mesmerizing green eyes sparkled.

“Meaning?”

“Sex.” He looks incredibly calm while his eyes slide all over your face trying to decipher your subdued expression. If he’s feeling as nervous as you are, he’s hiding it well.

“That’s awfully direct of you.” You close the textbook slowly to not give away how he makes you tremble.

“See, I have four brothers, Y/N. And they’re all incredibly tired of listening to me talk about you.” Hvitserk reclines back on his chair, lifting its legs off the ground and balancing his weight on it precariously. “What you wore, what you smelled like, how your mood was, how we quietly communicated. So if I don’t make a move soon, I’m afraid they will kill me in my sleep.”

You laugh at his explanation and chew on your lip for some long seconds. “Well, we don’t want that to happen, I suppose.” You mutter and try to hold back a smile with no success. 

He shakes his head slowly, never removing his eyes from your face: “Me least of all. Not before I taste you anyway.” 

“If I agree to go to your house with you, you need to understand one thing, Hvitserk.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Really? Everyone here does. False modesty doesn’t suit you.” You smile openly.

“Caught me.” He wets his lips slowly after smirking. “Anyway, you were saying something about leaving with me?”

“Yes, but I- I’m not asking for more than you’re willing to give me, just that you’re honest with me.”

“Okay. How’s this for honesty? I want to tie you to my bed with my belt before I tear to shreds that tight little lacy bra you’re wearing right now that drives me fuckin’ crazy.” Hvitserk runs a hand down his mouth in deep frustration. “I dread the days when you dress like this.” His eyes rush to your round breasts automatically as the translucent sheer of your crop top does nothing to hide them.

As he speaks, a shudder darts down your spine and you get goosebumps at the thought of him being so tempted by you. That certainly explains why he clutches his desk with white knuckles if you ever lean forward into his space while grabbing your things. 

“Now imagine me biting your skin.” His provocative smirk makes your cheeks burn up. “I could stay here all day teasing you if you reacted like this all the time.”

“N-no, by honesty I mean… If sex is all you want, that’s alright by me.” You lower your gaze to the table briefly. You can’t believe that you are uttering those words to him. It feels so odd that your first conversation came out of the blue and turned out to be you laying the rules of how you were going to spend the night together. “But don’t try to lead me on.”

“There’s no need for you to worry about all that. I was never going to.” Hvitserk shrugs. “That’s not who I am. Besides, I feel like you misunderstood me. Just ‘cause I want to sleep with you, doesn’t mean I don’t want to date you as well.”

“How badly?”

“How badly?” He repeats and laughs. His fingers tap on the edge of the oak table.

“Yeah…”

“ _ Very. _ ”

“In that case… would you be willing to do something for me?” Your voice is sticky sweet and he looks at you as if he were under a spell.

“Anything you want. I’ll do it.”

“Can we reverse the order of those two things? How about we go out first and then… see where things go from there?” 

You tilt your head to one side so your hair spills over your shoulders and you lean forward breathing deeply. The slow motion highlights the rise and fall of your chest and Hvitserk is salivating like a hungry dog. You see him swallowing as your oversized shirt falls down your shoulder revealing yet another piece of your skin.

“Oh, you’re gonna be the death of me, aren’t you?” He looks to the side smirking and considers your offer for all of two seconds. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Look me up on Tumblr! deans-ch-ch-cherrypie.tumblr.com
> 
> In case you want to support me: https://ko-fi.com/amyponders


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